


Hollow Heart

by Lucem



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucem/pseuds/Lucem
Summary: When Aoba was a child, his parents left. Searching for them in the dangerous forest that surrounds his village, he faced a near death experience, but was miraculously saved by an inhuman beast. Not believing in such a monster, the people around him, including his own grandmother, told him that he had imagined the scenario, that it was a way for him to cope with the trauma he had been through, and eventually he began to doubt his own memories.Many years later, on the day of his grandmother's funeral, numb with grief and believing he has nothing left to lose, Aoba ventures into the forest once more...(Sort of maybe slightly Beauty and the Beast inspired fanfiction in which Ren is "the beast", I don't know. I started thinking about the concept and couldn't stop so I decided to write it down and make a story, just gonna see where this goes)





	1. Prologue

Aoba remembered that day as though it had happened yesterday. Sometimes he felt like it was still happening, even now, like it permanently repeated in the back of his mind. But it hadn't been real, had it?

He had run through the forest, breath shivering out in small misty puffs, snow battering against his skin like frozen shards of glass. His entire body hurt, he was so cold and so tired, but he had to find them.

"Mama! Papa!" he cried, shrieking voice carried away in the howling of the wind. They couldn't be gone, they wouldn't leave him all alone. He thought about them desperately, praying he would find them among the snow and trees. His father would smile at him gently, his mother would hold him and laugh, and they would return home together. Wouldn't they?

He stumbled forward and fell onto his knees, tiny fingers, red from being exposed the cold winter air, disappearing as the snow seemed to swallow up his scrawny arms all the way to the elbow. He could feel his eyes sting, tears flooding his vision, and a hopelessness seemed to swamp through him like mud clinging to his chest. "They're gone..." he heard himself say, voice somewhat distant as though it had been carried to him upon the wind.

It was then he heard a low growl, followed by a chorus of vicious barks and howls, echoing in the woods around him. He raised his head slowly, the rest of his body bound in fear as cold terror shivered down the back of his neck. Deep yellow eyes watched him from atop the hollow trunk of a fallen tree, paws dragging along the freshly fallen snow, mouth drawn back in a snarl to reveal red gum and a row of long, canine teeth.

The wolf's white fur, almost as pale as the winter snow, made the animal seem like a blur of movement as it leapt toward him. His survival instincts suddenly kicked in, chasing away the fear that bound him. But it was too little, too late. As he scrambled back, throwing my arms up across his face, as though somehow those frail limbs would protect him, that jaw clamped around his right forearm with the finality of a mouse trap snapping on a tiny rodent's neck. He was small, only a child of ten, but somewhere deep inside of him he realised that's where his life would end. Or at least where it should have ended.

Teeth tore through the material of his shirt sleeve, sunk into flesh and bone like a knife through butter, and he could hear himself wailing as blood poured in heavy torrents from the wound, creating a horrible red pool against the blanket of pure white snow. The wolf attempted to drag him along as he resisted by kicking and screaming, but the pain was so intense he thought surely his arm would be ripped from his body.

But then the force that was pulling him came to an abrupt stop, and he heard a high, piercing whimper as the pressure of that jaw released. He dragged himself back, sobbing and shivering, a trail of red stalking him through the snow, and when he finally looked up, lips trembling, he saw a huge figure, at least a foot taller than any fully grown man, cloaked in dark heavy garments like a raven.

He watched, overcome with both terror and awe as hands, black fingers curled into long talons, tightened around the wolf's throat, the animal snapping and snarling in desperation, claws trying to tear at its attacker, but to no avail. He continued squeezing the neck until there was a horrid crunch, and with an inhuman roar, the figure threw the animal effortlessly onto the snow, where it landed with a thud, hind legs twitching slightly before its body went entirely still. Other wolves lingered among the trees, yowling and barking, but made no attempt to approach the beast and eventually withdrew, scattering back into the dark depths of the forest.

The creature swung round to face Aoba, where he lay bleeding and terrified, and without thinking he cried out in fear, trying to scramble away. A strong, icy wind tore through the forest, ruffling the dark hood of its cloak, and beneath it he caught a glimpse of dark hair, dancing in the wind like ribbons of midnight blue, and a pale human like mouth, drawn into a frown.

"You are hurt, child," it said. It seemed to have a man's voice, almost human beneath a deep growl. Paralysed with fear and shock, all Aoba could manage was a weak nod as he cradled his bloody arm to his chest, shoulders trembling as he sobbed. The pain seemed to scream through him like fire, and yet for some reason he also felt cold and numb, like waves of ice were slowly pulsing through his body. Blood still gushed from the wound, staining the shredded sleeve of his pale shirt, gluing the material to his skin, but the less he focused on it, the less he felt it.

The man like thing knelt down, knees pressing into the snow in front of him, and as it leaned forward, he couldn't suppress a whimper, his vision going dark as a strange cold seemed to slide into his veins.

The last thing he saw, although the sight was woven with tears, was the stranger's hood falling away to reveal his face. He didn't look human. Black patterns crawled across the skin of an impossibly pale face, his ears were long, tapering into small points at the end, and with his mouth slightly open, large monstrous teeth were visible within, too large and pointed to be that of a man's.

But in his eyes he saw a kind, yet sad light, that seemed to waver like a star flickering out in the night, and as his stunned gaze met his saviours, the world around him slowly sinking into darkness, he knew that he wasn't looking upon a monster.

But it wasn't real, was it? His Gran had told him a bear must have come along and scared away the wolves, that his fear and shock caused him to conjure up a story in order to cope with what had happened to him. The beastly man in the forest was a product of his imagination, nothing more. And yet...why did he remember it so vividly?


	2. Misery Loves Company

He stared at the sky, a slow shifting slate of grey, but his hazel eyes didn't really see it. They didn't see the first drops of rain, spitting down from the gloom above, they didn't see the Autumn leaves, scattering like ash on the wind as they swirled in a dance of blood and fire, they didn't see the figure approaching until he stood only a few inches away, anxious gaze resting on his best friend.

"Aoba?" Koujaku's voice was soft, hesitant. Aoba blinked slowly, a cold needle of rainwater hitting his eyelid, and gradually, as if he was in a daze, his eyes wandered over to Koujaku. "Yeah?" he responded. His voice seemed empty, as though something had hollowed him from the inside out, and his eyes were dull, lifeless, like all the colour had been stolen away from them.

"You should go home now," his friend answered gently, lips curling into his usual warm smile. But his eyes were filled with sadness, his voice wavering slightly. "I'll walk with you."

"Yeah," Aoba said distantly, as though his mind wasn't quite focused on the present. "But we need to wait for Granny,"

"Aoba...I'm sorry. She's not coming this time..." he spoke quietly, just barely managing to push the words past his lips. Words he never wanted to say. Aoba seemed to stand still, frozen like a sculpture of ice, save for his hair that seemed to drift aimlessly in the breeze, blue silk around a pallid white face. And then, as if whatever force was keeping him upright was suddenly torn away from him, he staggered forward and collapsed into his best friends arms.

Without a moments hesitation, Koujaku grabbed him and held him tight. Aoba's smaller body seemed to shake against him. "I...nothing..." his voice was so quiet that it seemed to be swallowed into silence, and his fingers were trembling as they curled into the black material of Koujaku's kimono. "I have nothing left," he repeated, words crawling out with a sob. "Nothing."

"I'll take you home," Koujaku said, the words catching painfully in the back of his throat. He could feel his eyes burn, and he blinked hard, taking a deep breathe and trying to will the tears away. "Let's go," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He had to be strong for Aoba right now. He couldn't afford to break down and cry.

  
Koujaku had walked him home in silence, and once he left, leaving behind only the faint smell of cigarette smoke, Aoba crawled into bed shrouded himself in the soft blankets, as though he could somehow hide from the world. From reality. It hadn't really hit him yet, but he could almost feel the weight suspended above him, like the surreal, heavy silence right before a violent storm. "She's gone..." he said. He could still recall the cold dread that poured into his veins like ice water, as he watched the coffin, a small, plain box of dark wood, descending into the hole in the ground. That's where it would lie forever, until time washed it away. Washed _her_ away.

Even though the funeral had taken place only this morning, it felt like a distant dream, a memory that happened a long time ago, or perhaps something that was still yet to come. Most of the town had been there, clad in black, heads bowed, eyes lowered. His grandmother was highly respected, the town healer, a woman of great strength and character.

People had approached him to offer their condolences, to speak words of comfort and consolation. But he couldn't remember their names, their faces, or anything that had been said. It all seemed to float by him, like driftwood in the sea, and he watched the morning go by as though it was a scene from a play, that those around him were actors in costumes, performing their roles and waiting to bow out. It didn't feel real. Not yet.

"Why?" he wasn't sure who he was directing the question to, or why he had even spoken it aloud. After all, in this empty wooden cottage, he was alone. He would always be alone from now on. He buried his face into the pillows, and sobbed, almost silently, until the fresh white casing was soaked with tears.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, only that the sunlight had been swallowed by the darkness of the night, and that he didn't want to wake up tomorrow knowing that his grandmother wouldn't be able to do the same. With slow, mechanical movements, almost like a puppet being dragged along with strings, he dragged himself out of his bed, slipped on a change of clothes, pulled on his boots and wrapped himself up in a heavy winter cloak.

He just needed to walk. Anywhere. Everywhere. Wherever his feet would take him. He didn't care anymore. The night air was cold, the icy chill a forewarning that winter was on its way to chase away the fiery brilliance of Fall, that soon the world would be barren and dead and dark.

But still he walked. He walked beneath the pale silver glow of the moon and stars until he could no longer feel their light on his skin, and then he kept on walking. He wasn't sure what force was driving him, if anything at all. Only that he felt like the moment he stopped he would just fall apart, crumble to dust on the ground.

The wind picked up, yanking down the hood of his cloak, shearing through him like a cold blade, and with it brought a familiar sound from a half forgotten memory, an incident that took place many years ago. A distant howl carried through the night, and Aoba knew he ought to be afraid of that sound. But he wasn't. Instead he just felt a numb shock, prickling over his skin like a thousand needles. And he kept on walking.

 

* * *

 

 

Ren stood in the grand ballroom, a huge hall built in the heart of the castle, that used to pump life and music and laughter through the veins of his home. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the golden curves of the chandeliers, their subtle sway as they hung from above, the soft candle light casting an intricate swirl of dancing shadows across the white ceiling. The Noblemen and women, clad in extravagant dresses with heavy colourful skirts, expensive suits with laced hems and frilled collars, swirling around in rhythm to loud, jaunty dance music.

He could smell the mingled scents of cooked meat and spices, he could taste the mulled wine and sweet pastries, feel the gentle, hesitant touch of some pretty young aristocrat who shyly danced with him. Life back then had been so perfect, so easy, and he scorned himself for taking it all for granted like it would last forever.

  
How long had it been? Decades. Centuries? He couldn't tell anymore.

  
He opened his eyes, and all the colours faded, washing away as though he had just awoken from a half remembered dream. The grand hall was silent and dull now, the air stale and thick with dust and decay. The only signs of life were the spiders that clung to their cobwebs in dark corners and the mice that scurried across the harshly worn down stone, disappearing into cracks in the walls. The chandeliers had fallen down long ago, with great resounding crashes, their weight easily fracturing the marble floor like a hammer to bone.

With a miserable sigh, he turned away, and it was at that moment he heard a distant clang, his large, wolf like ears perking up automatically. He inhaled sharply, and without realising, let out a short, low growl, before running, on all fours like an animal, toward the flight of stairs at the other end of the room. He scaled them at impossible speed, for a human anyway, claws tearing into the tattered red carpet and kicking up dust and fabric in a desperate flurry.

From there he darted along the hallway, stopping at a window just in time to see the intruder clumsily crash onto the ground by the tall wrought iron gate, as though he'd just jumped or fallen down from it. He wore a dark, heavy cloak that trailed through the dirt and leaves behind him, and slowly made his way through the castle's garden, toward the main entrance.

 _Don't come here_. Ren thought, feeling a subtle rage stir deep within his blood. He was probably another idiot adventurer that had heard tales of this place, and come to risk taking on the legendary monster and stealing the hidden treasures buried deep within the castle. Ren had dealt with them from time to time over the years, morons blabbering on about gold and diamonds and infinite riches. Usually showing his face was enough to scare them off, but lately they'd been getting braver, attacking him with sword and spell. _Stupid humans,_ he thought bitterly. They were all so foolish and greedy, just as he once had been.


End file.
